sordid sonnet 22

sloshing dumbness rings

a kind of dumbbell   ask not for whom

this toll is paid    it ain’t paid (it doesn’t loom)

for you;   a poet sings

but actually he’s (ring) tone deaf & clings

to the zoom

like a conceit in a locked room-

type mystery;

                            he’s just a loon

more adversarial than sublimated;

here   have some romanticoid gloom,

3^rd grade sifts assassinated:

all references are autopostdated—

(word jumbles now break things . . .)

please delete “corporate moon”